Page 57 of Wicked Promises
The paranoia is really getting to me, but I’m glad I don’t see anyone. I don’t need any dark figures lurking around corners, waiting for me to misstep.
“Welcome to Lucky’s,” the hostess says.
That voice.
I slowly turn back around, pushing past Riley.
Lydia Asher?
Caleb’s mom’s mouth drops open. “Margo?”
First thought? Horror.
Second thought? Nausea.
I guess those two kind of go hand in hand. And if we weren’t here for answers, well, I’d be out the door before she could say another word. Instead of running, I lock my muscles and really try to see her.
Because what happened to her after her husband died?
Riley squints at me, then her. She’d be unfamiliar with Lydia Asher, having moved here after the trial and town-wide publicity.
“You know Margo?” she asks the older woman.
“It’s been a while.” Lydia’s voice is faint.
I can’t quite decide on her tone. It could be soft—it certainly sounds it. But there are blades that are so sharp, they slice without pain. Not until after. And maybe that’s her—honed too sharp by time and anger.
“Not long enough,” I find myself saying.
“Then why are you here?”
“Hold on,” Riley interrupts. “Huh?”
“Caleb’s mom. Lydia Asher.” I finally tear my eyes away from her and look around. The place is deserted. “Why do you work here?”
“Excellent food.” She picks up two menus from the host stand. “I assume you ladies are here to eat?”
“No—”
“Yes.” Riley smiles sweetly. “Can we have that corner booth?”
Lydia watches her for a beat, then nods. “Of course.”
She leads us down the aisle. It’s a long and narrow diner, with a bar and bolted-in stools on one side, and a row of booths against the windows. The booths wrap around and end at the kitchen doors. Behind the bar, there’s a window into the kitchen. It seems deserted back there, too.
“Busy day?” I run my hand over the counter.
I’ve never seen a restaurant so quiet.
“It picks up around brunch,” she murmurs. “Here you are. Water?”
“Yes, thanks.” Riley takes a seat.
Lydia hesitates next to me. “Why are you really here, Margo?”
I shrug. “Just hungry.”
Is Lydia—or one of the other Ashers—my stalker? We’ve been thinking that it was someone around my age. They knew things from parties and school. There’s no way Lydia would have been able to get that information.